


feel the future on your skin

by snarkingturtle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8299970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkingturtle/pseuds/snarkingturtle
Summary: It’s three hours before Regina agrees to try and sleep, three hours of drinking and silence that is broken only by the crackling of the fire, and it makes Emma nervous and antsy, because she wants to move, wants to do, but if this is what Regina needs, then she can do this, can sit and be quiet and still, sit and just be there. Regina is less than steady on her feet when she rises, closing her eyes when she first pushes herself up, but she waves off Emma’s offer of assistance. Emma hovers behind her the whole walk up the stairs, arm out and ready to catch her in case Regina stumbles and misses a step, but they make it to Regina’s room without mishap, Regina dropping down onto the edge of her bed, head in her hands.***post split-queen. regina and emma fumble their way through something new.





	

\---

 

In retrospect, Emma should have realized something was up when Regina suggested sending Henry on a four-day camping trip with her parents. They’re all sitting around a booth at Granny’s, a little tired after another fight with the Queen, picking at plates of food and not talking much until Regina’s surprising offer.

 

“My other half is finally…contained,” Regina says, and Emma thinks of the Queen locked in one of the underground cells in the hospital, black leather cuff strapped on tight and eyes wet with pain and fury, look of pure betrayal fixed directly at Regina.Of later seeing Regina crying in the bathroom down the hall, head leaning against the tile wall and hand rubbing her own wrist raw, shoulders heaving and breathing coming in choked, gasping breaths. Of backing out slowly and quietly because she knew this was not something Regina wanted her to see, of watching Regina emerge five minutes later, the only sign of her outburst a little redness at her eyes and nose, jacket sleeves pulled low over her hands. 

 

“You know how bad I feel that you missed your school trip, sweetheart,” Regina continues now. “You should go. Have some fun. And I’m sure Neal would have a blast.”

 

“Neal is two,” Snow says, eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion over her mug of cocoa, but Regina just smiles brightly.

 

“And if he’s anything like his nephew was at that age, then he’ll love the opportunity of four days to poke at leaves looking for bugs. Really. Go.”

 

Neal looks up at this, sitting on Regina’s lap and mashing at her pancakes with his fingers. “Bug?” he asks, and squeals in delight when Regina tickles his neck and sides.

 

“Bug,” she agrees, and offers him another bite of pancake.

 

Across the table Snow nods slowly, clearly warming to the idea, but Henry still looks worried, wrinkle-line on his forehead and concern puckering his mouth as he looks over at his mom. “Why don’t you and Ma come too?”

 

“Oh, sweetheart, I would love to, but I have so much work to catch up on here, cleaning up after Hyde,” Regina says. It’s too breezy, too practiced, but at the same time doesn’t feel entirely like a lie, and Emma frowns, trying to figure out what Regina is playing at. “Emma should go, though, that’s a good idea,” Regina agrees. She won’t meet Emma’s eyes as she speaks, focusing her attention on Henry instead. “She deserves a break. And she was supposed to be one of the chaperones on your trip. This could be like a make-up.”

 

“Mom…”

 

“We can all do something later in the summer, all right?” Regina offers, reaching over to brush the hair that falls across his forehead. Her voice is softer now, that just-for-Henry tone that never fails to make Emma’s chest expand with warmth and care and something she doesn’t want to identify as longing.

 

(If it is longing, she tells herself, it’s longing for a childhood she never had, for a softness and love she never experienced. Not longing for _Regina_ , for the thought of having the smile-crinkles at Regina’s eyes directed at her, for the slow gentle curve of Regina’s lips and the light brush of Regina’s fingertips. Not for that. Never for that.)

 

“Promise?” Henry asks, and in the catch in his voice at that one word Emma can hear how young their son still is, their son who has seen so much, been through so much, and still keeps believing, still keeps standing.

 

“I promise,” Regina says, squeezing his shoulder. Her voice wavers a little, eyes overly bright, smile a little watery, and Emma’s eyes flick between Henry and her parents, waiting for one of them to say something. But none of them do, thinking, perhaps, that this was just the new Regina, slightly off-kilter ever since the split.

 

But that, Emma thinks, looking at Regina and the trembling hands she tries to hide behind a mug of coffee, that was a lie.

 

***

 

Still, Emma goes along with the plan until they’re all crammed in Snow’s car, camping gear and bags thrown in the trunk (all suspiciously ready to go in the very front of Regina’s garage), Henry and Emma squeezed in the backseat with Neal’s carseat, and it’s familial and domestic in a way that makes Emma’s palms itch even as she smiles at her son in the seat next to her. Henry had been slow climbing in the car, movements sluggish and reluctant, and it is that more than a real conviction that something is truly wrong that makes Emma swing her door back open just as David is starting the engine.

 

“You know what,” she says, “I actually think I should stay. It’s not really fair to have both sheriffs out of town at the same time.”

 

“Oh, Emma, are you sure?” her mom asks, craning in her seat to frown at Emma. “I’m sure your deputies can handle it for just a couple of days, things are so much more under control now…”

 

But Emma just nods resolutely, looking away from the disappointment on her parents’ faces. “I’m sure,” she says, and squeezes Henry’s knee. “Sorry, Henry. Next time, okay?”

 

“You’ll check on Mom?”

 

“Top of my list,” Emma promises, and is relieved to see some of the tension in his shoulders ease, to see the smile on his face widen and look more genuine.

 

Emma putters around the house until it’s something resembling a reasonable dinner time, putting away her clothes and doing some of the cleaning that had fallen by the wayside during all the confusion with Hyde and the Queen, dishes and vacuuming and two loads of laundry. And when she does head out a little later, surely it’s only the memory of her son’s smile, and the warmth of the evening sun on her face that has Emma humming a little under her breath on the walk first to Regina’s favorite restaurant and then to her house, take-out bag swinging in her hand.

 

If Emma had been paying more attention she would have seen the shimmer of magic in the air, would have proceeded with caution and with her own magic out and ready. But she’s not, too intent on getting inside, getting to Regina (for Henry, she tells herself, for Henry for Henry for Henry), and so Emma isn’t prepared for the jolt, isn’t prepared to be thrown back three feet in the air, skidding on her butt down Regina’s walkway before finally coming to a stop almost near the street.

 

“Fuck,” Emma mutters, rubbing her back and poking at a tear in her jeans, pushing herself to her feet with a wince and and a scowl and approaching again, more slowly this time. She can see the magic now that she’s looking for it, extending like a bubble all around Regina’s house, absorbing anything Emma throws at it without yielding. She circles the house three times, trying to find an opening or a weakness, but nothing works, and it’s with a sick, churning feeling in her stomach that she drives to the hospital, runs down the stairs and through the hallway to the little room where they had locked up the Queen just that morning.

 

 _Be there_ , Emma thinks, _be there be there be there_ , but of course she’s not, of course the cell is empty, leaving Emma spinning in circles like maybe she just _missed_ her, like maybe if Emma looks again she will see the Queen perched on the edge of the bed or on the chair in the corner of the room, one legged tossed over the other and ready to offer a quip or an insult.

 

The room stays empty, and Emma lets out a long slow exhale, food bag dropping to the floor and hands curling into fists.

 

 _Blood magic_ , she remembers Regina saying at the town line, confusion and pain in her voice, and after throwing one more angry look around the room, Emma leaves in search of the one person she thinks might be able to help her.

 

***

 

“Can you take it down?” Emma asks. She’s a little out of breath, more from worry than from all the running she’s done, and the wooden porch creaks under her weight when she shifts, unable to stay still.

 

“I could,” Zelena says calmly, bouncing a little in place when baby Robyn begins to fuss in her arms. “But I won’t.”

 

“The Queen has taken her _prisoner_ ,” Emma starts furiously, but Zelena cuts her off with a roll of her eyes and toss of her head.

 

“The Queen has done nothing of the sort,” she says. “Regina found a way to put her two halves back together. She told me yesterday.”

 

“Regina _what?_ ” Then, before Zelena can say anything, “And you _knew_?” Emma snaps, because it’s easier to be angry then to ask _why didn’t Regina tell_ ** _me_** , than to feel the way Zelena’s words make her gut twist with hurt and jealousy. Than to let in the fear, still coiled tight and low in her stomach. “You knew she was going to do something so—so—dangerous, and you just let her do it alone?”

 

Something of what she’s feeling must show on her face, because Zelena’s words are uncharacteristically gentle when she speaks again. “She asked me to stay away for a few days. I think she just wants time to adjust.”

 

“But—”

 

“If you’re truly her friend, I suggest you give that to her.”

 

Emma wants to keep yelling, because what does Zelena know of friendship, Zelena who has hardly known Regina for any time at all and spent so much of it trying to _kill_ her. Wants to say you stole her _heart_ and threw her into a _clocktower_ , and she came to _you_ when Emma—Emma—

 

(When Emma spent an hour picking glass out of Regina’s hair and running her hand over Regina’s back to make sure nothing made it through her jacket, while Regina stared down at a picture of Henry, white-lipped and trembling, _Will I ever get to be his mom again?_

 

 _You’ll always be his mom,_ Emma said, and didn’t let herself think about her plans to take Henry and run as soon as Zelena was defeated.)

 

(When Emma helped Regina clean out the farmhouse after Zelena died, watching Regina’s fingers smooth nervously over neatly folded skirts and blouses and dresses as she packed them into boxes they later carried up into Regina’s attic, even though the original plan had been to give them away.

 

 _I also wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to burn them,_ Emma had said and Regina choked on a laugh.

 

 _I’m so glad Henry doesn’t have any of my blood,_ she whispered after they packed up the last box. _I’m so glad, Emma, I’m so glad, I’m so,_ and her voice broke and Emma squeezed Regina’s shoulder while Regina tilted her head into the touch.)

 

(When Regina called _Emma_ the night after the split, not talking, just making these unsteady hitched breathing noises, the only word she uttered a quick _no_ when Emma offered to come over, and Emma talked and talked and stayed on the phone until she was sure Regina was asleep on the other end of the line.)

 

Emma lets out a shuddering sigh and runs a tired hand over her face before turning to stomp back to her car without bothering to say goodbye to Zelena. She pulls out her phone once she’s inside, Regina at the top of her messages.

 

 _I talked to your sister_ , Emma types. _You get one day, Regina. One fucking day. And then I’m finding a way in._

 

***

 

As promised, Emma returns to Mifflin the next evening, bottle of wine she knows Regina particularly likes in one hand, bag of ice cream in the other. She approaches the house warily, but can see before she even gets to the porch that the spell is down, and the door opens easily when she tries the knob.

 

“Learn to lock your damn doors, Regina,” Emma mutters, because Regina never does when she’s alone, when Henry isn’t home to protect and worry over. She and Emma have fought over it more than once, but nothing Emma says seems to make a difference.

 

Emma locks the door behind her, the click loud and defiant in the quiet hallway, yanks off her boots and lines them up neatly before padding off in search of Regina. It doesn’t take long; Emma knows, by now, where Regina goes when upset, and sure enough, there is Regina, curled on one of her study couches, eyes glassy and carafe of her cider on the coffee table in front of her.

 

Emma eases herself down onto the opposite couch, gaze not leaving Regina.

 

“Guess I didn’t need to bring this,” Emma says, waving the bottle of wine a little before putting it down.

 

“I’m covered, thanks.” Regina’s voice is hoarse, raspy, and so so tired. “Feel free to help yourself, though. You know where the glasses are by now.”

 

“Maybe a little later.” Emma shifts on the couch, trying to get Regina to really look at her. “Please tell me you haven’t just been drunk since yesterday.” She tries to keep her voice light, but doesn’t succeed in sounding anything other than worried.

 

Regina just shakes her head, not saying anything and looking at the fire instead of at Emma.

 

“Have you slept?” Emma asks, taking in the circles under Regina’s eyes, the droop in her spine and shoulders.

 

Another headshake.

 

“Did it—did it work?”

 

A nod this time, plus a little shuddering breath and tightening of her lips that makes Emma back off from that line of questioning.

 

“Okay,” Emma says simply. She lets them sit in silence for a little while before adding, “Thanks for letting me in.”

 

Regina runs a hand through her hair, shades of brown glowing in the firelight. “I don’t think I’m dangerous now,” she says, sounding a little distant, like she’s not all there. “I worried about it yesterday, before I first…it’s why I put up the barrier. But now I think I’m okay.”

 

“What can I do?” Emma asks. There is hurt and defeat in the lines on Regina’s face and Emma aches with it, aches with her inability to think of what will fix it, what will help. “What do you need?”

 

“I just want to sit,” Regina says, and Emma nods.

 

“Okay,” she says again. “We can do that.”

 

It’s three hours before Regina agrees to try and sleep, three hours of drinking and silence that is broken only by the crackling of the fire, and it makes Emma nervous and antsy, because she wants to _move_ , wants to _do_ , but if this is what Regina needs, then she can do this, can sit and be quiet and still, sit and just be _there_.

 

Regina is less than steady on her feet when she rises, closing her eyes when she first pushes herself up, but she waves off Emma’s offer of assistance. Emma hovers behind her the whole walk up the stairs, arm out and ready to catch her in case Regina stumbles and misses a step, but they make it to Regina’s room without mishap, Regina dropping down onto the edge of her bed, head in her hands.

 

“Pajamas?” Emma asks, and Regina vaguely points towards her dresser, leaving Emma to open drawers until she finds them. She pulls out a nightgown because it seems easiest, and turns back around to find Regina fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, fingers clumsy and uncooperative.

 

“Let me,” Emma offers, and Regina stares at her for a long beat before nodding and dropping her hands. Emma makes quick work of the buttons, helping Regina out of her blouse and into the nightgown, then pulling her to standing so she can tug down Regina’s slacks, letting Regina wind her arms around Emma’s neck and rest her head on Emma when she trips trying to step out of them.

 

“There you go,” Emma says, pulling back the covers and easing Regina into bed.

 

Regina stares up at her, hair a dark splash against the white pillowcase and eyes troubled.

 

“Stay?” she asks. And this isn’t what they do, isn’t something they’ve ever—but there is so much pain in Regina’s eyes, so much exhaustion and loneliness that Emma barely hesitates before whispering “Of course,” shrugging out of her jacket and jeans and sliding into bed next to Regina, making sure there is enough space between them that they don’t touch.

 

But Regina rolls closer to Emma, letting out a half-sigh half-groan as she presses her forehead against Emma’s shoulder.

 

“All right?” Emma asks.

 

Regina nods minutely.

 

“I should make you drink water.”

 

“No,” Regina murmurs. “No water,” and she sounds so petulant that Emma huffs a laugh. The movement jostles some of Emma’s hair into Regina’s face, and Emma reaches over to brush it away.

 

“It’s okay,” Regina mumbles into Emma’s shoulder. “I like your hair. It’s nice.”

 

Emma stares at her, hand frozen over Regina’s face. “You’re drunk,” she finally whispers.

 

“Mmm,” Regina hums in agreement. “Room’s spinning. But I still like your hair. It’s soft. And it smells good.”

 

Emma isn’t entirely sure what to say to that, finally going with nothing. She can feel Regina’s breathing getting slower against her, knows Regina must be close to passing out, but Emma isn’t anything near tired, looking around the room instead. There’s a feather on top of a book on Regina’s nightstand, and Emma reaches for it curiously, brushing it against her fingers.

 

Regina half opens her eyes at the movement, following the line of Emma’s arm to see what she’s holding.

 

“Robin’s,” she says, and Emma drops it, fumbling to pick it back up and return it to its place on Regina’s nightstand.

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispers, feeling her throat clog with guilt.

 

“Not your fault.”

 

It is, though, Emma wants to say. It is and I made you hurt, and I’m sorry, Regina, I’m so sorry.

 

But this isn’t what Regina wants to hear, Emma knows, so she searches, instead, for other words. “I know how much you loved him. And then you didn’t even get time to mourn—I can’t imagine how hard that’s been.”

 

“I didn’t,” Regina says, and Emma thinks, at first, that Regina is agreeing with her, didn’t get time to mourn. But then Regina keeps talking. “I didn’t love him,” she clarifies. “I tried. I tried so hard, Emma, because I knew that he was my only chance, that only he…he was supposed to be my soulmate. And who else could love the Evil Queen, other than someone who had to, because of destiny, or fairy magic? So I tried, I did. And eventually I cared for him. But I couldn’t love him.”

 

“Why not?” Emma asks, not entirely sure she wants to know the answer.

 

Regina rolls a little closer into Emma. She has one arm slung over Emma’s hip, hand under the hem of Emma’s shirt, tracing shapes on Emma’s bare skin in a light touch that makes Emma’s skin goosepimple and breath catch in her throat.

 

“Because I was already in love with you,” Regina says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I have been forever. There’s no _room_ for anyone else. Robin…Robin never stood a chance.” Regina lets out a little laugh then, though Emma hears more hurt than humor in the sound. “But you’re with that fucking pirate. And I’m the Evil Queen. Will always be the Evil Queen, no matter what I try to do to escape it.”

 

“Regina…”

 

“It’s probably better this way anyway. The people I’m with tend to end up dead. And I don’t want to risk that with you.”

 

Emma has no idea what to say to that, what to say to the little sniff she hears come from Regina, to the wetness she feels on her arm that she is sure means Regina has started to cry. So Emma doesn’t say anything. She wraps an arm around Regina’s waist and holds her close, tucking her chin on top of Regina’s head and listening while Regina’s breathing evens out from shaky to slow and steady, and she is sure Regina has fallen asleep.

 

Sleep comes less easily to Emma, mind racing and so full of _Regina_ that she doesn’t dare close her eyes. She lies there, spending the rest of the night trying not to move or think, and while her arm goes numb from the first, she can’t pull off the second. When the first grey streaks of dawn begin to filter in through Regina’s curtains, Emma gently disentangles herself from Regina’s hold and dresses as silently as she can.

 

She leaves Advil and a glass of water next to Regina’s bed, and runs.

 


End file.
